Having spent the past four hours walking along the Rideau Canal, Seb reluctantly returned to his mom’s house. He didn’t have a key and after ringing the doorbell several times, assumed his mother had gone out. He walked the few streets to where Celeste’s housekeeper lived. Pierre had been cleaning his parents’ house and tending to the backyard since Seb was a boy, and getting the spare key from him took almost an hour as they caught up on how life had been since Seb had left home.
It was almost dark when Seb finally let himself in, not at all surprised—after their heated discussion earlier—that Celeste hadn’t told him she’d be going out. Grateful to be alone, he made himself some coffee and walked through to the lounge.
Then found Celeste out cold on the sofa, an empty glass caught between her fingers and the wine bottle on its side on the floor.
Aw, shit.
Uncle David’s words all made sense now. As did Celeste’s phone calls these past few weeks. Her insistence that Seb attend the memorial. Her wistful looks out of the window. The goddamn wine.
Grief is a strange beast, Helen had said.
But not as strange as love. Seb had no clue what to make of his mother’s behavior and revelations. Maybe it had been the wine talking. Or maybe—more likely—his mom was as emotionally screwed up as her son after years of a stormy, tumultuous relationship with a man who simply didn’t know how to show love.
Seb removed the wineglass from Celeste’s clutches, then slipped off her shoes. “Time to go to bed, Mom.”
She stirred only slightly as he carried her to her room and laid her gently on the bed. As Seb pulled the blankets over her, a photograph on the nightstand caught his eye. He took it back out with him to the kitchen and stared at the image of himself as a very young boy, not more than three years old, standing between his parents on The Hill, the parliament buildings and Center Block in the background. Young Seb and Celeste were smiling. Terrence wasn’t.
Seb placed the photograph on the table and glanced at his phone. He wanted to hear Helen’s voice, but he was too sore, too sensitive—too exposed on that shaky platform—to speak to her now.
Closure.
That’s what he’d come here for, but all he’d gotten so far was a barrage of emotions and feelings he didn’t know how to deal with. He rubbed his eyes. He should get some sleep, but then he saw the crate from his father’s office still out in the hall. He carried it to the study and took his time surveying the room—a room he hadn’t stepped foot in for over twenty years.
As a kid he’d never been allowed to enter it, though one day he’d snuck in. For several minutes, Seb had been able to look at the books on his father’s shelves, had been able to sit in his large leather chair, until his father had caught him and pushed him out with a stern lecture on privacy and personal space.
Looking around now, Seb couldn’t understand what was so special and secret about this room. Sure, there’d be personal stuff here—financial and private data that had to be disposed of properly—but really, it was just a goddamn room, full of goddamn books. Something else to add to the list ofThings Not to Waste Time On Trying to Understand.
Seb dumped the crate by the desk and flipped the lid open. There were a few books. A vase. Some framed certifications. A photograph of Celeste meeting Queen Elizabeth on a state visit and a photograph of Seb on the podium, holding out the bronze medal he’d won for the men’s 4x100m relay seven years ago; two monumental “family” moments on display in Terrence Clarke’s office.
Seb placed the frames back in the crate and reached for one of the empty cardboard boxes stacked in the corner, no doubt supplied by Celeste’s trusty assistant. Seeing as Celeste had been telling the truth that she wasn’t strong enough to do it—and, fuck, he still didn’t know what to make of that—Seb would at least get this place boxed up by morning.
Thirty minutes later, the shelves were empty so Seb started on the desk. He pulled out the drawers then froze at the sight of his parents as a young couple. He gently picked up the photograph. His father was smiling this time. He looked so young, so happy. Seb had never seen him like that before. And his mother, her eyes were sparkling as she gazed at his father.
A hot passionate affair.How had it all gone so wrong?
A therapist had once said that true closure began with accepting that some things in life were just shitty, and it ended with the decision to move on. But deep down, Seb had wanted—needed—an apology from his parents for how they’d neglected him as a child. At the very least, he needed an acknowledgment that they were regretful.
Did his father’s dying words and his mother’s drunken reminiscence count as that acknowledgment?
It didn’t seem to matter now because learning that Celeste and Terrence had actually loved each other screwed with Seb’s head more than ever before, and he was done trying to figure out his crazy parents.
Though Celeste had been right about one thing. A passionate love affairwaslike an explosion.
And sooner or later, like all explosions, it burned itself out, leaving only blackened remains and dying embers.
Chapter 31
“Helen?”Tomsaidonthe other end of the phone. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m sorry I keep missing your calls.” Helen glanced over her shoulder, checking to see who was behind her in the busy office at the police station. “I can’t talk now, but everything is fine. Please don’t worry about me. I’m okay, honest. Have fun at the beach tomorrow and give my love to Emma’s parents. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
Disconnecting, Helen got back to work. She’d been working with the police cyberunit for hours, writing code for Jaxon on her laptop that included a tracking script hidden in the software.
As soon as she’d agreed to help the police, Nazir and Drake had whisked her back home to make contact with Jaxon using the phone he’d sent her. She had to call from the cottage in case he was tracking the phone’s GPS somehow, and so they were joined by DI Sheldon from the NCA and a handful of other police personnel, who’d rigged up recording equipment for the call.
Helen had hated talking to Jaxon. Where once she’d found his voice gentle, it now sounded nasally and creepy. He kept the call brief, telling her his exact requirements and that he needed the program by Monday.
“That’s very tight,” Helen said once she’d disconnected. Nazir and her team had then wasted no time, asking Helen to pack up her kit and base herself at the station with the cyberunit for the rest of the day.
